


Just A Sad Song With Nothing To Say

by WintersCurse



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blood, Death, If there's anything else I needa tag it for please tell me but I think I've gotten most of it, It only gets sad after that, Light Torture, Multi, Nightmares, Singing, The Dead Men (Skulduggery Pleasant), The first chapters really cute don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23749651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintersCurse/pseuds/WintersCurse
Summary: Singing bought the Dead Men closer and helped them feel safe, even at the worst points of their lives(Basically just I'm a sucker for the Dead Men)
Relationships: Hopeless/Erskine Ravel, Saracen Rue/Dexter Vex
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr, but I have edited it a bit 
> 
> Yes, the title is from Disenchanted by MCR because I am unoriginal 
> 
> This chapter doesn't have any tws

“And so I said to him,” Saracen grinned, eyes sparkling with laughter. “I said to him: That’s not what your wife said!” 

Dexter sniggered. “How did he take that?” 

“Very nicely. I even got to see his axe!” 

Saracen shuffled closer to the fire, leaves crinkling as he moved. His coat was drawn tightly around him, boots caked in mud. 

“Naturally,” Anton said. “I can name a lot of people that want to swing an axe of you. I happen to be one of them.”

“Oh. So you found about about that thing with your sister?” 

Anton turned his head sharply. “What?” 

Saracen’s grin burst into fits of laughter. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! Please don’t kill me!” 

Anton was already standing, black hair falling into his face. His face was drawn into anger, but his eyes were smiling. 

“Erskine!” Saracen half-shrieked. “Don’t let him kill me!” 

Erskine lifted his head from Hopeless’ shoulder. “I’m sure you can deal with it yourself. Weren’t you just telling us about how you bested that axe-weilding giant?” 

“With only your bare hands,” Ghastly added. 

“Well, yes,” Saracen choked out. “But not even an axe-weilding giant is scarier than Anton!” 

“You hear that, Anton?” Skulduggery asked. “Mevolent will be trembling in his slippers when he sees you.” 

“Mevolent doesn’t wear slippers,” Saracen said. 

Dexter laughed. “Why am I surprised you know that?” 

“Are you… Are you suggesting that I’ve slept with Mevolent?” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Erskine said. 

“I have been betrayed.” The leaves rustled as Saracen fell backwards. “I have been betrayed by my closest confidants.” 

“Closest confidants?” Skulduggery raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean friends?” 

“I have no friends. You have made that clear.” 

Shaking his head, Ghastly picked up his coat and stood up. “Right. That’s it. I’m done.” 

Skulduggery grabbed him and pulled him back down. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

Ghastly started standing up again. “We’re tracking the Diablerie tomorrow, I’m going to sleep.” 

“The sun only just went down. What happened to living life to the fullest? Staying up all night and blaming reckless decisions on too much alcohol?” Erskine looked as though he was trying very hard to suppress a grin. 

Skulduggery wasn’t sure how Erskine had managed to get both arms around Hopeless without losing his head. Then again, they always had been close. 

“What happened to staying sane? Because I guarantee, Saracen’s losing the plot a little.” 

Ghastly gestured over to where Saracen was trying, and failing, to put a flower crown on Anton’s head. 

Skulduggery pulled a face. “How long do you think he has to live?” 

“Not long,” Hopeless said grimly. 

They watched Saracen chase Anton around the fire for way longer than should have been amusing. Anton was only walking, but Saracen had to stumble behind him and actually jump in an attempt to get the crown on his head. 

After a while, Skulduggery felt Ghastly’s gaze settle on him. 

“Yes?” 

“No, don’t stop singing.” 

Skulduggery raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realise I was.” 

“You were. So don’t stop.” 

“Ghastly. I can’t even remember what I was singing.” 

Ghastly sighed. _“Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.”_

Skulduggery nodded, then joined in: _“Remember me to one that lives there. For she was once a true lover of mine.”_

One by one, the others joined in. Erskine first, then Hopeless, then Dexter. Anton’s arms were crossed and his face a scowl, but he joined in, too. Saracen only came in on the last line, creating a harmonisation that didn’t really work. 

As the song ended, they descended into a silence broken only by the crackling fire and whispering night winds. 

_“By yon bonnie grass and by yon bonnie banks.”_

All eyes fell on Dexter, and then the singing began again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for nightmares and alcohol (and implied alcoholism)

Dexter was the first one awake. He always was. 

In the dim candle light, he could barely make out his friends lying on the chipped stone floor. He was pretty sure the snoring was coming from Anton, and that Ghastly was the one missing. He was probably outside, keeping watch. 

But Dexter didn’t need any light to know that Saracen was the one crying. 

He sat up, pushing the moth-bitten blanket off him and gritting his teeth against the cold.

He knelt on the stone floor beside Saracen. He reached out to touch Saracen’s shaking shoulders and, when there was no response, he shuffled a little closer. 

“Saracen?” He muttered. 

The crying didn’t stop. 

Dexter tugged at a strand of Saracen’s hair, hoping it would wake him up. It had gotten too long, Dexter thought. He wouldn’t’ve minded it, he quite liked it, actually. He liked how it curled around Saracen's neck and how soft it felt under Dexter's fingers. But he knew Saracen hated it. 

“Hey, Saracen? You need to wake up now, ok?” 

He felt Saracen shift beside him. “Dex?” 

His voice was rough and choked with tears. 

“Yeah. I’m here. You ok?” 

Saracen didn’t reply. He reached forwards, searching for the flask that lay on the the ground beside him. 

At the muffled chink of the lid being taken off the bottle, Dexter reached his hands up to Saracen’s. 

He took the flask out of Saracen’s rough hands and placed it down beside him. Dexter wrinkled his nose against the strong smell of whiskey. 

“You shouldn’t drink that,” he said. 

“Why not?” Saracen asked, voice muffled. 

“Because knowing you, you’ll get drunk. And you can’t be hung-over tomorrow.” 

“Just a little bit,” his voice was too pleading, too needy. “I need it.” 

Dexter leaned over and kissed his forehead. “No, you don’t. You shouldn’t have it here. You give in to it too quickly.” 

Saracen moved closer to him. “It’s not completely my fault.” 

“It’s a family problem, I know.” He pulled Saracen’s still-shaking form into his arms. “But we can fix it. You know that?” 

Saracen didn’t answer. 

“We can,” Dexter promised. “We can-” 

He was cut off by someone groaning. 

“Is it morning already?” A sleep-filled voice asked. “But it’s dark?” 

One of the candles flickered to life, revealing Erskine Ravel, eyes half-closed and hair in his face. His shirt was ruffled and he hissed as his bare feet touched the cold floor. 

His eyes widened. “It’s not morning, then. Are… Are you two ok?” 

Dexter glanced at Saracen. His cheeks were stained with tears and his lip was bleeding. 

“Nightmares,” Dexter said. 

Erskine only nodded and came to sit beside them. 

Anton and Hopeless were both woken by the light a minute or so later. Skulduggery was only woken when Hopeless accidentally fell on top of him. 

The sat on the floor in silence. The usual jokes and smiles and laughs gone. They all knew too much about the nightmares for that. 

And then Skulduggery started singing. It was a song they all knew well. One they sang most nights. 

All of them joined in, quietly, though there was no one left to wake. 

When the reds and pinks of dawn flooded the run-down cottage, they were still sat there, singing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for torture/blood. Not explicit though

Heeled boots clacked on the stone floor, and the dim candles flickered. Shadowy wolves danced over the walls. The howling wind flew through the drains and the barred window, mixing with the croaky singing. 

The lock clicked and Nye walked in. 

Erskine paused his song. 

“What’s that, little song bird?” It asked. “Cat got your tongue?” 

“No.” 

Nye lunged forwards. 

Its eyes glowed amber and its breath scalded Erskine’s face. “It should.” 

Nye picked up the scalpel from beside it. Erskine forced himself not to flinch, forced himself to stay strong, forced himself to play through the memories of the Dead Men. Of sitting around the camp fire each night. Of Saracen’s stories and Dexter’s tales. Of Shudder’s grudging laughter. Of the taste of Hopeless' kisses and the warmth of Ghastly's hugs. And of their voices as they picked up another song. 

Nye smiled, and pain shot through Erskine’s shoulders. He felt blood trickling down his chest. 

And when Nye finally left, after what seemed like hours upon hours, Erskine picked up the same song he had been singing. His voice was croaky and hoarse, and it _hurt_ to sing, but he could almost hear the other’s singing with him. 

_Just a little bit longer,_ he told himself. _Skulduggery will come soon._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for death/blood/lowkey torture

Blood pooled around the knife at her throat. His wife's eyes turning hollow as blood dripped down her collarbones. 

Skulduggery’s world crashed down around him. Suddenly, the silence was too harsh. The bright light was blinding. Colours blurred. Everything was faded and dark and painful. 

And there, in the middle of it, stood Serpine. 

As the world crashed and burned, Serpine stood. The smile stuck on his face. His feet stayed firmly on the ground. 

And then Serpine’s hand closed around the wrist of a little girl. Skulduggery’s little girl. 

“Don’t touch her,” Skulduggery croaked. “Haven’t you done enough?” 

Serpine laughed. The sound grated through the cold air. 

“Skulduggery. What do you think I’m going to do to her?” 

Skulduggery kept his eyes trained on his daughter’s terrified face, not on her mother’s. He had to show her it would be alright. And that meant keeping a straight face, keeping the tears out of his eyes. Just a few more minutes. 

“You will let her go,” Skulduggery said. “You will give her to me and we will leave. This is a battle for another day.” 

Serpine brushed a gloved hand against the little girl’s face. “Is it?” 

“Serpine, she’s a child. I know you like to kill people smarter than you, but leave her out of this.” 

Serpine laughed. “But this is war, Skulduggery. Exceptions can’t be made.” 

“Serpine, I swear to God-” 

The knife was pressed against the girl’s throat, her copper hair reflected in the gleaming blade. 

Skulduggery flicked his gaze up to Serpine’s smug face- god, he wanted to punch it- then down to his daughter’s tear-filled eyes. 

He tried to keep a small, steady smile on his face. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything. 

“It’s going to be ok,” Skulduggery said, hoping his voice was calm. 

“You promise?” She asked. 

It took everything he had not to cry at the way her voice shook. 

“I promise.” 

He kept the smile on his face, and his eyes locked on her’s, even while the blade danced across her neck. Even as the blood traced patterns on her skin. Until the last light faded from her eyes. 

Then he broke down in tears. 

As soon as his voice was steady enough, he began to sing. Because that was all he knew to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for nightmares/past character death

Dexter sat up, head still spiralling. Images danced across his mind, flickering like a kaleidoscope. Laughs and cries and screams and yells, all circling through his ears. Looping and repeating, never stopping, not for a second. 

Breath, he told himself. Just a nightmare. Breathe. 

After a count of five, with his breathing a little less uneven, he glanced around the make-shift camp they had set up. Skulduggery had wandered off somewhere, he knew. That was the one good thing about him being dead; everyone else got a chance to sleep. 

Four other men lay in the clump they called camp. 

Dexter’s eyes narrowed. Four? 

The big lump of a man on the very edge must’ve been Anton, making the tiny figure huddled beside him Larrikin. 

Dexter rolled his eyes. Even when sleeping, Larrikin couldn’t give Anton any space. 

The one curled up next to Dexter must have been Saracen. No one else snored that loudly. No one else was capable of it. 

So the man stretched out by the burnt out campfire, looking like a bulky log, was probably Ghastly. 

He pushed his coat off his knees and stood up, softly, so he didn’t wake anyone. 

He glanced over at where Larrikin lay, and felt a small, sad smile creep onto his face. He loved Larrikin, of course he did. He was Dexter’s oldest friend, and the most fun out of anyone he'd ever met. But only a week ago, it would’ve been Hopeless with them. And seeing Larrikin in his place still tore a fresh hole in his heart. 

Which led back to the problem of where Erskine had wondered off to. 

The past week had been bad for all of them, losing a close friend- a brother, almost. But it had hit Erskine the hardest. 

Dexter tiptoed past Anton, wincing at the crunch from every leaf he stepped on. He pushed past a clump of ferns, and, trying very hard not to trip over tree roots in the dark, walked down the cobbled path through the forest. 

After far too long of feeling his way through the dark, he found Erskine curled against the trunk of an old oak tree, head pressed against his knees. 

“Erskine?” He asked. 

He heard a shaky breath, then: “Hey, Dex.” 

Dexter sat down on the ground opposite him. He offered a small smile, though he doubted Erskine could see it. But it was the thought that counted, right? 

“Nightmares?” He asked. He knew what the answer would be, but it couldn’t hurt to check. 

“No,” Erskine murmured. “Not really. Hopeless.” 

“Yeah, I know. We all miss him. A lot. But... It’s only been a week. Surely it’ll get better.” 

He was met with silence. 

“Hey,” Dexter reached a hand out to brush a tear off Erskine’s cheek. “He meant a lot to you, I know.” 

This time, a bitter laugh rang through the air. “He meant a good deal more than a lot to me. He... I’ve known him all my life. He was my best friend and, well, only friend for a long time. And I...” Erskine’s voice broke, giving way to a flood of tears. 

“You loved him.” Dexter finished. 

“Yeah. I did.” 

They sat in silence until Dexter felt a new wave of tears trickling down his hand. 

And so Dexter sang. Softly, careful not to draw attention to them. He sang by himself, until Erskine’s voice was steady enough to join his.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for past death

It had been years since Larrikin died. 

Anton had grown used to waking up with an empty space next to him. He’d grown used to the silence that followed him around, and the hollow feeling in his heart. 

But today was different. Today his bed felt cold. Each time he reached out and found no one there his heart felt a little bit heavier. 

He kept expecting to see a freckled face hop down from the windowsill. He kept expecting an obnoxious laugh to greet him. He kept expecting to feel ginger hair against his chest. 

But there was nothing there. 

No one there. 

Anton buried his head in his pillow, willing the tears away. Why did everything still hurt, why couldn’t it go away. 

He picked up his phone, scrolling through the numbers. There was no one he could trust, no one who would understand. 

Except maybe Saracen. 

He held the phone to his ear as another flood of tears came to drown his heart. 

“Good morning!” Saracen chirped through the phone. 

Taking a deep breath, Anton forced himself to talk. “I miss him.” 

The atmosphere changed slowly. “I know. I miss him too.” 

The silence descended before Anton had a chance to think. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. 

Until softly, almost too quiet and hoarse for Anton to hear, Saracen started singing. 

Voice catching and heart sinking further, Anton joined him.


End file.
